Afterglow
by Possumbrat
Summary: Five years of trial and tribulation can change a man. The end is coming, but certain people refuse to let their glimmer of hope slip away. At Camp Chitaqua, a small group of survivors struggle to hold on. Dean is a hardened shell of himself, Castiel is drowning in his own addictions, Bobby is gone, and Chuck just wants some toilet paper. (Season 5 End!verse, slightly AU. Destiel.)


.o0o.

He keeps his distance but is never more than a few steps away from his leader, like some hapless hound awaiting his master's call. He's watching the shadows, ears and eyes attentive, while his dirty hands grip the cold metal of his pistol. Castiel takes in the hollow shell of a city, the stale wind worming its way through open windows and alleyways. There's a sort of cold metallic rhythm that echoes its way through the rubble, an orchestra of obliteration. Chain link fences clanking, water dripping from burst pipes, a distant car alarm faintly singing, and the crunching footsteps of the survivors.

Dean was heading the group of four, on a supply run. Castiel followed just behind, with Risa and another male a few feet further. The group walked steadily, with purpose. Their fingers itching at triggers, ready to blow away croats at a second's notice. There was an undeniable thrill that pulsed through their veins when the blood spilled out of the bodies of infected hordes. As anomalous as it was for either Dean or Cas to enjoy killing, in this new world happiness was a warm gun. Castiel stared down at his own weapon for a moment. He thought about the man who crafted it, imagined what he might have been like. He recalled the first time Dean placed a rifle in his hands. Taught him to shoot. He thought about what a terrible shot he'd been in his mortal state and how Dean had helped him improve, albeit not without a generous amount of laughter and jokes at Cas's expense. But, hell, what he wouldn't give to hear him laugh like that again.

"Shit." Dean's voice tore Cas away from his thoughts. "Looks like the croats are throwing a party without us." The group stopped abruptly, and gawked at the massive swarm hovering around the small white building. They were far enough away so as not to be sensed by the delayed reactions of the infected, but the proximity to that much disease and danger was enough to put the group on edge.

"It's not worth it, Dean. That's a suicide mission," Castiel advised.

"It's the apocalypse, Cas. I can't even take a damn piss without it being a suicide mission." Dean retorted, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.

"Sarcasm aside, we-"

"Hey, there's another pharmacy two blocks east. All the croats are gathered here, so we should be fine." Risa chimed in, eager to evacuate the area. As well as eager to placate their leader, since he and Castiel had been at each other's throats lately. Today they were being civil, but Risa was glad to intervene lest they start up again.

Dean took a last look at the forlorn little building. "Fine, let's move."

Cas fidgeted with the straps of his backpack and took his place just behind Dean.

The second pharmacy was not difficult to reach, and they completed their journey without so much as a single shot fired. The mission was exceptionally uneventful today and the ease with which they entered the building began to lull the team into a sense of safety. They quickly spread out through the labyrinth of aisles, filling their packs with a myriad of drugs. Most of them necessary for survival and pain management, others though were to be used for recreational purposes.

The amber afternoon glow filtered in through the shattered windows. The dim light illuminated the drugstore just enough for one to see what they were doing. Castiel fumbled about, seeking his particular fix. Dirty fingers trailing the dusty rainbow of pill bottles. Oranges and blues, whites and reds. Hydrocodone, dicyclomine, diazepam, zolpidem. His cracked lips mouthed the myriad of syllables, his tongue tapping the roof of his mouth in rhythmic concentration. Mexi-trexi-doxy-oxy…a bit of this and that slipped past, the words all blurred together as his search drew on. His nimble fingers lingered on a small translucent orange bottle with one of those child-proof caps. He felt the ridges on the cap with the tip of his thumb, recalling how much difficulty he had once had unhinging such a silly little piece of plastic. He tipped the bottle up and read the label. He took a sharp inhale; felt his heart beat a little more rapidly. His eyes lingered on the tiny indigo tablets. This what addiction feels like, he thought. The twitch of the fingers, the nervous desires. The urges that he could not shake off. Urges that at first had seemed so foreign to him, but now felt like home.

He snatched up the bottle with hungry hands and sweaty palms. Castiel ducked his head down to the shelf to inspect. He took two more identical bottles and stowed them away in a pocket in his backpack. He zipped it shut with a satisfying whir of metal teeth.

His poison of choice was derived from a variety of amphetamines. Adderall was the most easily accessible, and he had the most luck finding it. Vyvanse was second after that. Less easy to find. The chemicals metabolized differently, producing slightly different effects. Cas loved the science behind it all. The connections between body and brain enthralled him. His curious nature had not left him. If anything, it had been heightened. He had fallen into the habit of trying things for the sake of the experience. Another notch on the belt of his humanity.

He crouched in silent contemplation, until he noticed a strange vibratory sensation resounding through his skull. He paused and glanced towards the end of aisle where papers and boxes were floating down from shelves. A second loud blast sent tremors through his body and made his ears ring. His hand instinctively reached for the pistol at his side and drew it forth as he stood up and pushed his legs onward towards the source of the sound. He peered around the corner of the shelf just as two more bangs shattered the stale air.

Risa stood shaking a few feet away as the end of her machine gun lit up like a sparkler, a spatter of shots went sailing forth into a small crowd of gaunt mud-caked men and women. Sprays of blood ebbed forth from where the bullets pierced their contaminated bodies. The first few shots never stopped them, the sick would keep going until you hit them clean in the head. The horde was pouring in from a large hole in the corner of the building and was steadily increasing in number despite the loss of four Risa had just gunned down. Castiel could see her mouth the word "Croats" as she yelled over her shoulder. He watched, transfixed, his feet feeling like lead and his mind clouded. Risa looked at him, her mouth open wide like the gaping maw of a hungry stray. She was saying something, but his ability to read lips seemed to have slipped away for the time being. His eyes squinted in concentration and then he felt it. The darkness crept in like a fog, slithering over his eyelids and penetrating his skull. There was the stunting blow of something heavy crashing down onto his head and shoulders, knocking him onto the ground and out of consciousness.

.o0o.


End file.
